A Rather Thoughtful Gift
by Partners In Fanfic
Summary: A oneshot in which Fusco shows a surprising amount of concern for Reese, and Finch passes along the message.


**_DISCLAIMER: PERSON OF INTEREST ISN'T MINE._**

**A/N: **_Hey everyone! So, I can honestly say I haven't uploaded this many stories in well, FOREVER. I have no idea what has possessed me to publish so many stories, but hey, I'm going to enjoy it while I can (I believe it has something to do with all the absolutely LOVELY reviews I've been getting...thank you readers!). Anyway, for some reason, I actually love Fusco's character and the relationship he has with Reese and Finch (I know he's a dirty cop and such, but still...). As for this story, I feel that Fusco cares about what happens to Reese a little more than he lets on, so he'd obviously be concerned after Reese gets shot. Maybe a little OOC, but it IS fanfiction, right? Yeah. -EAJP_

*Set just enough time after the events of Number Crunch for Reese to semi-recover.*

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><p>Finch hobbled down the unusually quiet New York City street, collar pulled up tightly around his neck and ears. The cold winter wind was biting, and Finch was trying his best to ignore the twinges of pain coursing through his neck.<p>

Normally, Finch wouldn't be out in these conditions, or at least he would be in the warm confines of a town car. But just because Reese was still restricted to bed rest because of his injuries, didn't mean the numbers stopped coming.

Finch, concerned that something like that would happen before Reese was completely healed, planned in advance to gather all the resources they had and use them to his advantage (he had no intention of simply _ignoring_ a number if he could help it). And of course, Finch proved to be correct as The Machine gave them yet another number.

With Reese's help (he contributed to the investigation whenever he was coherent enough), Finch deduced that the job was one that could be handled well by a fixer. So, he placed a call to Zoe Morgan, who agreed to help them out as long as Finch gave her enough information to use.

This meant that Finch had to leave Reese asleep on the couch in the library to speak with their mutual friend. And that brought him to his current position, walking down a lonely New York street, wishing that bullet wounds didn't take so long to heal.

He glanced up at the street corner and saw that Detective Fusco was waiting right where Finch told him to, the ever-present look of exasperation set on his face.

"Detective," Finch greeted as he approached the other man.

Fusco looked up at him and gave him a somewhat wary look. "Can we make this quick? I promised my kid I'd take him to play ice hockey today."

"I assure you, Mr. Fusco, this will only be a few moments. I have a favor to ask of you."

Fusco squinted at him again. "What do you need?"

"I need the files from the court case that this man is currently involved in. Email them to me when you get them." Finch pulled a picture of the artist and pushed it into Fusco's hand.

Fusco looked at the photo and sighed. "Alright, I'll get them today. Want me to pick up your dry cleaning for you too?"

Finch glanced at him. If he was amused, he didn't show it. "That's all, Detective." Finch turned to walk away from the detective, but Fusco stopped him.

"Hey, wait," he said. Finch paused and turned around, interested.

"How's our, uh, mutual friend doing?" Fusco asked gruffly.

"Curious again?" Finch replied, eyebrow raised. "Well, he's still recovering, naturally. Apparently he's not as indestructible as he likes everyone to believe."

"Apparently, huh?" Fusco scoffed, "Well, tell him that I don't want to see him doing whatever it is he does until he's better, OK? I don't feel like saving him from some crazed ex-CIA agent again because he doesn't know how to sit it out for a few innings."

Finch nodded and noted that he would pass the message on.

"And hey, before you go," Fusco said. He pulled out a bottle from the inside of his jacket and handed it to Finch.

Finch accepted the bottle with surprise and glanced at the label. "Scotch?"

Fusco shifted uncomfortably as he weighed his words. "Back at my old precinct, whenever one of the guys took a shot that didn't hit the Kevlar, we'd buy him a bottle of scotch. Called it our 80 proof painkiller. And as much as our mutual friend is a pain in my ass, he's still doing a hell of a lot of good, all things considered."

Finch looked at him, unsure of what to say. Fusco, sensing this, waved him off, "Just give it to him for me, alright?"

"Of course, Detective." With that, Finch turned and walked down the street, back the way he came.

**POI**

Finch walked as quietly as he could through the library, unsure if Reese was still asleep from the last round of pills he took. As he rounded the last bookcase though, he realized his effort was unnecessary because Reese was lying propped up on the couch, absentmindedly scanning the information Finch had printed out on their new number.

He glanced up at Finch disinterestedly (he probably knew that Finch was there all along). "How's Lionel?" he asked with a smirk.

"Good, Mr. Reese. He's concerned about you, and he hopes that you feel better soon."

Reese raised an eyebrow and gestured to his phone next to him. "That's not what he said. I was listening to the entire conversation."

Finch sighed and looked at his partner. "And I was reading between the lines, Mr. Reese."

Reese smirked again. Finch continued, "Then I suppose I don't have to explain why he bought you this. I must admit, it's a rather thoughtful gift, coming from him." Finch pulled out the bottle of scotch and showed it to Reese before setting it on the end of a nearby bookshelf. "Although, I highly recommend waiting to drink it until you don't have to take such strong pain medication."

Reese raised an eyebrow again and set the papers on the floor. After a few moments, his eyes began to droop again and he asked Finch drowsily, "So Finch, do you still think that Fusco's such a bad contact to have?"

Finch looked at Reese, but didn't answer his question. Instead he said, "Go back to sleep, Mr. Reese."

Reese took that as a "no" and made a mental note to drink some of that Scotch the next time Finch went out.

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><p><strong>Like it? Leave a comment. Reviews are love and coffee. =)<strong>


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